


Background Noise

by naivesilver



Series: for home a song that echoes on - chaotix idw fics [1]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW Comics), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, For Vector as well as for the idiot author who regrets pretty much everything, Humour as a coping mechanism, Introspection, Loss of Control, M/M, Regret, Reminiscing, SPOILERS from issue 17 onward, Zombots (Sonic the Hedgehog)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: He's just so, so tired. Zombots never rest, it seems. He’s never going to complain about being jobless again, if it allows him to take impromptu naps in the office.Deep down under the infection, Vector's mind has yet to stop working.He'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much.
Relationships: Espio the Chameleon/Vector the Crocodile
Series: for home a song that echoes on - chaotix idw fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114133
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	Background Noise

Nobody ever told Vector it would be so _cold_.

Well. To be fair, nobody could have warned him of what being a zombie would entail. It’s not like anyone has ever come back to tell the story, is it? He and the other poor sods will be the first, if someone manages to find a cure.

Perhaps not if. When. When they find a cure. No reason to be pessimistic when things can’t possibly get any worse for him, right?

Besides, it’s not in his nature to give up. He’s a tough guy, and used to get by with the bare minimum. So what if he’s lost control of his senses, of everything but a tiny scrap of consciousness? He’ll fight tooth and nail to keep holding onto it.

It would be so easy to let go, to let himself be engulfed by the buzzing entity that took over his body. It’s everywhere, he can’t see – he can’t _feel_ anything else. He fancies that he tastes iron on his tongue as well.

Or he would, that is. If he could feel his mouth again.

It would be so easy, and Vector’s so tired. Clinging to himself is exhausting, and zombots never rest, it seems. He’s never going to complain about being jobless again, if it allows him to take impromptu naps in the office.

Espio will complain, like as not, call him lazy as he always did, but that’s fine. Vector would rather picture Espio bitching and grumbling, curling beside him on their bed and kicking him when he starts snoring, than remember the last time he saw his partner, the pained shock on his face before the doors closed between them. If he starts thinking about _that_ then he’ll remember what came right after, the frantic press of bodies around him and Charmy slipping from under his arm and the grey patina forming on his scales and…

Halt. Not helpful. He needs to stay sane, however impossible it seems. Memories like those won’t serve.

Not as the lists do, anyway.

Vector, on principle, does not believe in lists. Espio makes lists, useful reminders of things they need to buy or jobs they need to do or repairs that need to be made, hundreds of notes that Vector can crumple or slip under his coffee cup, when he doesn’t use them to teach Charmy how to make paper planes.

Vector has never made a list in his life, nor followed it, but now he finds they come quite in hand. Lists are better than boundless streams of thought, because they trigger the crumb of memory he’s got left. If there’s a bullet point four, logic calls for bullet point three, and two and one, and five after, if he can squeeze his brain enough to remember something else. If he sticks with the bullet points, he won’t give in to the incessant background noise in his mind, the bubbling screams that only call for _cold_ and _fight_ and _us- us-one of us_ and turn to static crackling in his ears, as if filtered through cheap headphones.

They’re not particularly exciting lists, truth be told. They’re supposed to enumerate things he remembers, things that are _him_ and not the brainwashed hivemind, but there’s not much of his own life he can think of. His younger, egoistic self would be horrified, but Vector has sorted out his priorities a long time ago, and nothing’s about him as much as it is about Espio, and Charmy, and money, and fame, and saving the world. Perhaps not always in that order, depending on what day it is and how long it’s been since their last paycheck, but the point stands.

Wait. No. Scratch that. No façade to keep up down there, after all. No one to lie to. It’s only him, and himself, and the thousands of other zombots connected to his brain, har har har. There are only two living beings Vector cares about right now, and one is not in a much better state than him, and the other-

Well. The other will probably kill him and Charmy both with his bare hands, just for the trouble they put him through.

Charmy, then. Charmy’s easy to figure out.

Charmy is an idiot, point one. Charmy is a reckless, obnoxious brat, point two. Charmy is a little kid who flies everywhere and especially where he shouldn’t, and yet he likes riding the cart when Espio takes him grocery shopping, and when he was barely more than a baby he used to crawl under the office desk and stay there in the dirt and dark, giggling himself to hiccups, until someone went to pick him up, and if they both survive this thing Vector’s going to tuck him under there and never let him out again, because this time they’re cutting it a bit too close for his liking. The one thing he’s grateful for, in this whole bloody business, is that even his eyes belong to the hivemind now: he can’t really see anything of what’s happening around him, so even if he’s pretty sure the kid can’t have gone too far, he doesn’t have to witness what Charmy has turned into anymore.

Vector can feel him, sometimes, it’s true. There’s a connection, between him and every other victim, and he can feel their presence, thrumming at the back of his mind. It grows louder the closer they are to him, and sometimes one is a bit too high-pitched, a bit too familiar to be mistaken for anybody else.

He makes a point to ignore it, though, because it won’t do him any good. It’s too painful to bear, and if he delves too much in the thread tying him to the group, he’ll lose himself, and if Espio – if they take Espio, too, he doesn’t want to be there to sense it happening.

Espio, uh. Now that’s a hard list to make.

It’s not that he doesn’t remember. His memory is a patchy mess right about now, and he might have forgotten where he hid the spare key for their house, or how it feels to be warm, but Espio’s not fading anytime soon. Quite hilarious, considering his whole trade is based on going unseen and disappearing without a trace, or perhaps it’s just Vector sense of humour that’s growing stale after being trapped in his own body for so long.

To be honest, he doesn’t really know how long it’s been. His perception of time is a bit skewed, considering he’s pretty much blind and deaf, and he’s not sleeping as much as drifting off temporarily, shaking himself up when he feels his consciousness slipping away. He might have been infected yesterday or a month ago and it would be the same for him. Might be it’s been years and he’s just none the wiser, and everyone he knows is now either an undead monster or six feet underground.

No, it can’t be. He might believe that of some people, but he’s almost certain Amy and Knuckles would tackle Eggman bodily before surrendering. And Espio’s too stubborn to just give up like that.

Oh, that’s a good point one. Espio’s stubborn alright, and quite impatient for all his ninja training, and a bit stuck up when it comes to enjoying the fun things in life.

Espio’s the clever one in their team, too, and that makes two things, and it means he might be looking for a way to save him and Charmy so he can hang it over their heads for the rest of their lives.

He loves Espio. Espio loves him back, he thinks, he fears. It should be point three and four, but in truth it might be just two faces of the same coin, a coin that goes rolling and rolling inside Vector’s head and shows him just how much they’ve both botched this relationship thing.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He remembers Espio, he remembers far too well despite the virus taking over – and yet he wishes he didn’t, because he’s apparently unable to cut off the bad memories and stick with the good ones. Espio snapping at him over rent money leads to Espio holding him back as he scrambled to get off the hovercraft and run after Charmy, to the bunker, to the doors sliding shut, and on and on and on until Vector thinks he’ll go mad even without help from his zombie side.

If they had known it would end up like this, as dumb kids playing the detective duo, they might have called it quits from the very beginning. Or not. They’ve always lacked even the barest amount of survival instinct, after all. And besides, they don’t need to go that far back. If they’d known how it would go just a few months ago, at the end of the war, then they wouldn’t have been so hasty to call it a success and move on with their lives. If they’d been just a little bit cleverer, they would have noticed so many things – Mr Tinker, and all that came after. They would have realized just how high the stakes could get, with all three of them on the front line.

It circles back to the same issue: Vector does know Espio, knows resilient he is and how he fights, but only because they’ve always fought side by side. He hasn’t seen Espio work alone in a while; the last time it happened they weren’t friends yet, just two suspicious street kids circling each other and spying on one another. Trying to picture him alone _now_ , sticking out like a sore thumb on the battlefield when Vector and Charmy should be right behind him…It feels wrong, there’s nothing to it. Espio himself must be thinking the same thing, trying to find his balance right when he needs it the most, looking over his shoulder expecting for someone that’s not there to cover his back.

And one more thing, just because the Chaotix don’t do things by halves – Vector loves Espio, and Espio loves him back. And it might have been awesome, it might have been _flattering_ , because nobody ever claimed a crocodile as strong and handsome as him should not have an ego, but only if they hadn’t entered another bloody battle. Vector would be caught dead, dead-dead and not coated in cold, chrome grey, before admitting he’s made a mistake in front of Espio, but Espio’s not here now, and it’s pretty obvious at this point just how much he’s fucked up by getting himself infected.

It’s not about the purpose it served, the people he saved. It was the right thing to do: _a selfless act of courage_ , history will probably call it, if they all live long enough for historiographers to still have a job. No, it’s as selfish as it gets – Espio cares about him, and Vector left him alone, without even Charmy’s squeaky voice to keep him from going on a tangent. And if Espio believes he’s lost them both, or worse, if he believes he needs to give all he’s got to save them…He might get reckless. He might get dangerously unpredictable, and not only at the expense of his enemies.

But Vector can’t think about that. He can’t imagine regaining control only to find out he’s lost Espio, just as he can’t let himself wonder if the noisy mind he feels tied to his belongs to a certain bee. So he grits his teeth (metaphorically, of course: who knows what his real teeth might be tearing apart, at this point), he tightens his focus, and he keeps digging for brighter memories, for home and peace and the quiet before the storm.

And he keeps making lists, most of all, because it feels the sensible thing to do, and Espio would definitely be proud.

Point one.

Point two.

Point th-

Espio. Charmy. Espio. Charmy. Charmy. Espio.

 _Cold_.

Espio. Espio. Charmy. Home.

_Us._

_Cold._

One.

Two.

_One._

_Cold._

_Cold._

_C҉o҉l҉-_

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**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a lethal mix of "my country has been in lockdown for the last three weeks and I'm running out of things to do that don't feature fictional angst" "oh wait I haven't written from Vector's POV in AGES" and "when will this zombot arc fucking END". I am deeply sorry.  
> Also I'm publishing this right after reading Issue 27. How are we FARING fellas? How heartbroken are we? ((((:  
> On a more serious note, I hope everyone's managing as well as they can with Covid. Stay safe, and wash your hands. I love you all. Thank you for reading.


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